


cold sheets, but where's my love?

by firstpynch



Category: Dreamer Trilogy - Maggie Stiefvater, Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Adam Parrish Loves Ronan Lynch, Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, I just needed to write a pynch reunion sue me, I've always wanted to say that, Jordan/Declan Lynch - Freeform, M/M, Post-Call Down the Hawk, Ronan Compliant Language, author has not read cdth since it came out a year ago and does not remember shit from it, but very briefly, this is just 4k words of Adam pining for his boyfriend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27688307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstpynch/pseuds/firstpynch
Summary: He blinks at the rectangle of fluorescent light, closing his eyes and willing every ounce of residual magic left in his body to do something, to make a text appear, anything to indicate that Ronan is okay. When he opens his eyes, he just sees this: alter idem, marked unread.-Adam Parrish would wield the very powers of the earth to bring his boyfriend back to him, safe and sound.
Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish
Comments: 7
Kudos: 114





	cold sheets, but where's my love?

**Author's Note:**

> wattup I've been trying to write a post-cdth fic for a year now and my lazy ass finally got round to it so? yay to me ig? 
> 
> literally not a word of it is proofread. I wrote the first 3k words in one sitting and the last bit of it just now cos I didn't want to do my human rights reading. I am rather proud of the end result, though :D
> 
> title from 'where's my love' cos im a basic bitch <3

Adam Parrish does not have a dream phone. 

It wasn’t for the lack of trying on Ronan’s part. It had not taken Ronan long to figure out that there is one loop hole in Adam’s ‘no gifts policy’ - Adam would not accept money, but as Ronan vehemently argued, dream gifts “cost fuck all, Parrish, Jesus fucking Christ.” And so the gift giving had begun. 

(Adam distantly remembers thinking that in another life, Ronan Lynch could be a good fucking lawyer, if foul mouth attorneys were your thing. In this life, though, his foul mouth has other great uses.) 

Impossible flowers dropped off in front of his door at St Agnes when he would get home from work, a curious shade of hazel-blue Ronan claims is the colour of Adam’s eyes. A four colour pen that never runs out of ink, a blanket that automatically adjusts temperature according to how hot or cold Adam is feeling, a watch which points to wherever Ronan is in the world - a small comfort in his tiny dorm room, miles and miles apart from his home. As Ronan gained more control over his dreams after the death of Cabeswater, the more gifts started to be littered around his tiny church apartment. 

Ronan had tried to dream an impossible phone - unlimited minutes and texts and data - but Adam had put a stop to it. Some things he needed to get for himself. 

The thing is, though, that dreamt phone currently discarded somewhere in the Barns had an interesting feature: it never ran out of charge. Now, as Adam stares at the 10 missed texts from Ronan sent hours ago, he wholeheartedly regrets rejecting Ronan’s offer. 

Adam is  _ good  _ with his phone, despite Ronan Lynch’s blatant technophobia. A phone has been a privilege for him his entire life, and he’ll be damned if he didn’t treat it properly when he got it. It had taken months of savings until he could afford a phone, perhaps not the most advanced, but enough for it to serve its purpose: talk to Ronan. He checked his phone regularly enough, letting himself relish the brief moments of joy when he got to talk to Ronan for however long. Ronan himself was getting better using his phone - though Gansey’s rants indicate Ronan’s phone use is limited to Adam only - and it was all going  _ fine.  _

Now, Adam stares at the last text blinking on his screen, and he can’t help the dread that settled deep in his guts. 

8:22pm

_ Lynch???  _

_ Ronan I swear to god  _

_ Ronan you shithead answer me!  _

_ Dammit Ronan I told you to wait for me _

_ Fire under your ass for no goddamn reason  _

_ Alter idem, you fucker _

_ Alter idem _

He blinks at the rectangle of fluorescent light, closing his eyes and willing every ounce of residual magic left in his body to  _ do  _ something, to make a text appear, anything to indicate that Ronan is okay. When he opens his eyes, he just sees this:  _ alter idem,  _ marked unread. 

He takes a few shuddering breaths, drawing oxygen into his lungs, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart. 

_ You have a problem,  _ he tells himself,  _ now fucking solve it.  _

He breathes in again, letting his conscience drift outside his body.  _ What makes you happy, Adam?  _ Persephone had asked him once, one of those first lessons when Adam’s thoughts were too heavy for him to be anywhere except in his own head. Persephone had smiled softly at him, sagely, as if he was doing exactly what she had expected him to. 

_ Let your thoughts remember,  _ she had told him.  _ Let them drift.  _

Back then, Adam had very little to draw positivity from. He had assembled his happy thoughts from brief moments in time, plucking them out of the air and dropping them into his worn belt. A fist bump with Gansey, a hug from Blue, a mischievous grin shared with Noah. And Ronan. Always Ronan. 

He draws on those thoughts now; Ronan, his chin resting on top of Adam’s neatly brushed curls, their arms wrapped around each other as they sway to the music drifting from Aurora’s favourite records. Ronan, swinging Opal over his head, both their identical laughter echoing so loudly Adam swears he can almost hear it in his deaf ear. Ronan, cupping his face and kissing him softly, sweetly, whispering  _ I love you  _ against his skin again and again again. Ronan, Ronan, Ronan. 

He opens his eyes with a gasp, realising for the first time the coldness running down his cheeks. He brushes his tears away with his knuckles, and if he tries hard enough he can almost feel the ghost of Ronan’s touch on his cheek, an action repeated so many times it’s almost imprinted on Adam’s skin. 

He tries to reach out to Ronan, tries to push the tethers of his psychic abilities as long as it can go. But it’s no use; everything comes back empty. His thoughts are a blur, his heart heavy and aching for the phantom of a touch he can still feel on his lips. He knows nothing, except two things: he needs Ronan, right now, more than he has ever needed anything in his life. The second: the second hand on his dreamt watch is pointing south, to the direction of home. 

His next actions are a blur. He grabs his laptop from where it sits opened on his desk, books a plane ticket, Boston to DC, plane leaving in two hours. It eats up a chunk of his savings for the next term, but it all seems secondary to him now. He grabs his phone, calling an Uber to come pick him up asap. There’s things to be done, he knows. Midterms are next week, and classes are still going. He needs to call Gillian and Fletcher to let them know, and needs to email his professors and explain his absence. There is one other call he makes first, though. 

Declan picks up on the first ring. 

“Parrish, thank fuck,” he says, exhaling a heavy sigh. Adam files this reaction away for further inspection; he doesn’t think Declan  _ dislikes him,  _ per say, but he isn’t sure if he cares either. Right now, though, Adam focuses on the task at hand. “Where’s Ronan?” he asks, blunt. There isn’t time to waste on pleasantries. Declan pauses for a beat, the silence heavy on the both of them. “I don’t know,” he says, finally. “Parrish, we can’t discuss this on the phone. I’ve been calling you for hours. We need to get you to a safehouse. I have… connections in Boston. Stay where you are.”

“Like fuck,” Adam replies, channeling every bit of Ronan-like aggression he can muster. “I’m coming home. I’m on my way to the airport now.” 

The other side goes silent again, and Adam braces himself for an argument, for a refusal. He’s not taking no for an answer. “Adam,” Declan says, “this is more dangerous than you can imagine.” He’s not trying to deter Adam, he doesn’t think, but rather giving him an out. Adam realises, in his own messed up way, Declan is trying to  _ protect  _ him, give him a way out of the clusterfuck the Lynch family find themselves in. It’s a bit of an useless thing to do, though, because Adam has been involved from the day Gansey pointed at an angry tattooed boy and said “this is my good friend, Ronan.” It has been  _ his _ business,  _ his _ clusterfuck, from the day Ronan kissed him in his childhood bedroom and Adam let himself fall. The danger means nothing to him now, not when it’s Ronan on the line. He suspects Declan knows this, too. 

“You need to be careful,” Declan says. “Whoever is after Ronan would know about you too. I can’t leave Matthew here alone, but I’ll talk to Fox Way and see if we can find a way to get you here without attracting attention. Send me your flight details and then switch off your phone. Leave it behind.” 

“Okay,” he says simply, nodding to himself. He wants to question Declan, has a million queries waiting to be voiced. In the end, he only asks one though. “Is Matthew okay?” 

Declan’s voice is uncharacteristically grievous when he answers. “Physically? Yes, he’s fine.” Adam lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.  _ Matthew is fine,  _ he thinks.  _ That means Ronan is fine, too.  _ “Mentally? I don’t know. He figured it out.” 

Adam doesn’t have to ask what Matthew figured out. “I’ll be there soon,” he says instead. Declan disconnects the call without any other comments. He does what Declan asks, forwarding him his flight information. He texts Gillian, lets her know he is going to be unavailable for a few days and he’s safe, emails his professors and explains his absence due to a sudden family emergency. 

And then, as the dread in his stomach grows and grows, expanding until it becomes a tight ball settled in his chest, an invisible weight holding him down so he can’t breathe, he lets himself send one more, to the one person who matters the most:  _ come back to me.  _

\--

Adam probably should not be as surprised as he is to see a white Mitsubishi parked in front of the airport. Inside, a hint of a grey sleeve jacket is prodding out of the semi open car window, a tell-tale sign of Mr Gray’s presence. He sticks his head out of the window, holding Adam’s eyes with an unwavering gaze. His eyes roll to the side miniscule, and then he drives off without another word. Adam continues to walk a few feet in the direction the car drove off in, finding it parked in a hidden alcove on the side of the road. Adam waits a moment, his eyes darting quickly over the empty roads, before he swiftly slides into the passenger seat. Mr Gray says nothing to him, just immediately starts driving. 

They drive the first hour out of DC in silence, nothing except the steady hum of the dreamt Mitsubishi for company. Adam doesn’t usually mind silences - thrives in them, in fact - but this one feels almost deafening. 

“What do you know?” he asks Mr Gray, straight to the point. The tiny part of him that let himself believe it’s not too bad is now letting itself be overcome with logic. Declan asked  _ Mr Gray  _ to help. Declan’s reservations with Mr Gray may not be to the same level as Ronan’s blatant hatred, but neither of the oldest Lynch brothers voluntarily choose to associate with the man who killed their father, not unless it was the last resort. 

Mr Gray stays infuriating silent for a few long moments, instead swiftly pulling into an open, empty road. Night had just begun to set when Adam had come out of the airport, and he couldn't help but do the math since he last heard from Ronan, the ticking clock a constant thrum in his head. 

“Not much,” he says finally. “Declan was wary of saying anything on the phone, and for good reason it seems. I picked up some burner phones, and Henry has managed to get his mother to discreetly send over the remaining non-traceable dreamt sim cards Niall Lynch had sold to her. Gansey and Blue are on their way to Fox Way; we thought it best they stay there instead of everyone crowding at the Barns. They are most likely targets too, and the psychics will be able to provide the best protection. Henry is on his way to Vancouver to his mom as we speak; we’re hoping she might have some insight on these people.” 

“ _ Who _ ?” Adam insists again. He doesn’t like the lack of information, not having something to analyse in his head, rip apart to shreds. He can’t solve a problem if he doesn’t have all the facts. In front of them, the Barns came into view, hidden partially by the overgrown trees Ronan had not bothered to trim since summer. It looked unchanged, the idyllicism still rampant in every wind-blown leaf. Mr Gray did not go in directly through the driveway, instead driving into the woods next to the expansive farmland. He stops a few metres away from the Barns, signalling at Adam to get off. He hands him a backpack, giving him a small, tight-lipped smile. “Tell Declan to call me once he gets the burner phone working,” is all he says before he drives off, the tires squeaking in the mud. 

Adam is only a few metres away from the main farmland, and can make this journey with his eyes closed. He knows this part of the woods like the back of his hand; the pond a bit to his right where he and Ronan had spent a lazy sunny day, their feet dipped into the cool water, Adam’s head resting on Ronan’s shoulders, their fingers intertwined. The big oak tree Ronan had attempted to build a tire swing for Opal on, but Opal had chewed on the rope until the whole thing fell off with her still inside the tire. Crouching in front of Opal, gently wiping the blood off her scratched elbow as he tries to smooth out her quivering lips with encouraging words. He can almost see it now, Ronan in his black boots standing over the vegetable patch they had started in the spring, his mouth pulled up in that smirk Adam found unbearably sexy. When he reaches the wooden fence separating the Barns from the woods and finds it Ronan-less, the disappointment tightening in his chest is unbearable. 

_ Stupid,  _ he thinks. 

He avoids the front of the house, partly because he doesn’t think he could handle going there and not seeing Ronan waiting for him on the porch, his arms spread wide to welcome Adam home, the way Adam has been imagining about every night since he left for college, but also because the secrecy has made one thing clear: they are hiding. Instead, he goes directly to the back entrance, jiggling the door knob in the way he knows would open it, because Ronan accidentally broke the lock a few weeks back and hasn’t been bothered to repair it yet. He remembers the conversation, had not too long before, back when there were no murder crabs or dreamer problems. Back when Ronan Lynch in Cambridge by Adam’s side was something he was allowed to hope for, back when he got to look forward to coming home to Ronan. 

He opens the door, coming directly face to face with Declan Lynch clutching a gun in his hands. The deja vu is remarkable, if he’s being honest. 

Declan blinks at him, his face riddled with emotions in a way Adam has not seen in all the time he has known him. Beside him there is a beautiful woman, her face still contorted in fearsome determination, her hands still holding a knife Adam knows to be one from the kitchen. “Parrish?” Declan asks dumbly. He lowers the gun, but only a bit. 

Adam knows the drill. “For my birthday you gave me a travel gift card,” he says. “You tried to shrug it off as being boring, but you were trying to protect Ronan. Trying to make sure I come back to him.” 

The gun gets lowered a little bit more. “And have you?” Declan asks. 

“Always,” Adam says. 

He lets the hand holding the gun drop, and for a second - just a second - his face betrays the grief he is feeling, how scared he is. Adam realises that, for all the ease of sliding into the Lynch brothers’ animosity, of siding with Ronan simply out of principle - Declan is a good big brother, one that cares more than most family Adam has ever seen. It isn’t a new revelation by any means - Adam has seen glimpses of it throughout the years he has known the Lynchs, and yet he can’t help but forget sometimes. He supposes that's why Ronan and Declan bother to keep the facade of rivalry up now, even though it has been months since any of the venomous comments directed at each other have had any spite in them. Easier to pretend than it is to feel. As quickly as it comes though, it is dropped, and Declan carefully schools his face to one of bland indifference. The politician’s face, where emotions are kept concealed, where truth is seen as a tool too powerful to hand to someone. 

Beside Declan, the woman steps forward, her hand thrusting towards Adam. “Jordan,” she says, introducing herself. He takes her hand, “Adam.” Declan looks between the two, his expression unreadable. “Jordan is… a dream copy of Hennessey.” He sees Jordan flinch, the movement small but noticeable. “Hennessey,” Adam says. “The dreamer Ronan took to Linderemere?” Declan nods. 

Behind Declan, a halo of golden curls come running towards Adam. Matthew is just a little bit shorter than Adam, and yet when his body collides with Adam’s in a bone-crushing hug, Matthew buries his head in Adam’s chest. Adam’s arms automatically wrap around Matthew. Matty’s mumbling something, though Adam can’t fully catch what it is. He realises that, for the first time since all this began, someone has offered him  _ comfort.  _ With Declan and Mr Gray it has been purely business so far, the formation of a checklist of a thousand things to do, none of which include comfort. He didn’t get a chance to talk to Gansey - perhaps the only person who would understand the wreck Adam is feeling. Jordan is a stranger - and one Adam can’t help but be wary of, even if it seems like Declan trusts her. But Matthew, he’s not trying to think of next steps or offering sympathy for someone he has never met. Right now, they are a unit, united by the worry for the person they both love most. 

When Matthew pulls away, his Lynch blue eyes are glistening with tears, his cheeks red and flushed. “Adam,” Matthew says, his voice quivering in a way that makes Adam want to pull him right back in, shield him from the rest of the world, “will Ronan be okay?” The question is childlike, his eyes blinking up at Adam as if he trusts him to make it right. A single tear escapes the well gathering in his eyes, and Adam brings a thumb to gently swipe it away. The gesture is tender, one that Adam has never done on Matthew, though he has seen Ronan do it a few times. “Yeah,” Adam answers. “He will be.” 

“How do you know?” Matthew asks again. Adam lets some mirth seep into his voice. “Because I’m psychic, remember?” Matthew lets out a small laugh. “And plus,” Adam adds, “Ronan is a stubborn bastard. He’s going to be home in no time.” 

Matthew nods. Adam sneaks a look at Declan and Jordan, both wearing identical looks of disbelief. Adam focuses his attention back on Matthew, ruffling his hair. “Hey, why don’t you go inside and see what a mess Ronan’s left of our room. I’ll be up in a sec, okay?” 

Matthew isn’t a child, nor is he stupid - Adam knows this. Knows he can read a clear dismissal, but Adam can’t take another second of being left in the dark. He doesn’t want to do this in front of Matthew, though. 

As soon as Matthew leaves, Adam turns to Declan. “Explain,” he demands. “Now.” 

Declan sighs, gesturing at Adam to take a seat. He does so, Declan and Adam on opposite ends of the table. Jordan sits down next to Declan, their chairs pulled closed to each other. They look like a unit, and the ache in his chest just intensifies as he spares a glance at the seat next to him, the one always occupied by Ronan. 

“They’re called the Moderators,” Declan starts. “A group that has been operating underground. They have kept an extraordinarily low profile, but are actually governmental organisations.” Declan pauses. 

“They’re hunting for Dreamers.” 

Adam closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Why?” he asks. 

“Not sure,” Declan shrugs, an action that feels infinitely foreign on him. “All Mr Gray was able to find out is that there is a group of dreamkillers hunting dreamers. They think there is a dreamer who poses a threat to the world, and they want to stop him. It seems they think that dreamer is Ronan.” 

And there it is. 

“Ronan and Hennessey went to dream. To find a way to contact Bryde. They were supposed to come back here but we’ve heard nothing from them. We know nothing.” 

Declan’s voice sounded, Adam thinks, as useless as he felt. 

“But they’re alive,” Jordan says ferociously. “If they weren’t then -” 

Adam doesn’t need to explain how this works; he has been more familiar with this theory than anything they could teach him at school. And yet, he knows this: alive doesn’t always mean safe. 

A tense silent falls across the table, and Adam knows they are all thinking the same thing. 

Adam is the first to stand up, the heavy wooden chair scraping noisily on the floor. 

“I’m going to scry,” Adam says. He doesn’t phrase it as a question; he is not looking for permission. 

Declan tries to interfere anyway. “No,” he says, standing up to face Adam, “it’s too dangerous.” 

“I wasn’t asking, Declan,” he spits out, making himself sound as Ronan-like as possible. 

“You’re not fucking invincible, Parrish,” Declan says angrily. “What will I do if you scry too far and can’t come back? What if whatever the fuck this Lace is finds you in there? What if they can use you to track us here, or even better, directly to Ronan? What am I supposed to do if you fucking  _ die,  _ Parrish? What am I supposed to tell Ronan?” His voice is a whisper as he speaks the next thoughts, ones Adam never wanted voiced. “What do I do if Ronan dies? Matthew dies? What do I have left, then?” 

Perhaps for the first time in his life, Adam felt an undeniable kinship towards Ronan’s older brother. They were both, after all, pulled in by the gravitational force that was Ronan Lynch, doomed to never be the same again without his presence. 

His voice is soft when he sits next to Declan, a tone he has only ever given few chosen people. “And what do you think I would do if something happens to him? He is  _ it _ for me, Declan. You know that.” He can feel Jordan’s eyes on him. He feels uncomfortably bare, showing vulnerability in front of a stranger he has barely exchanged two words with. And yet, while the Adam Parrish a year ago would scorn at such a display, the one sitting in the Barns now is tired. To this Adam, nothing else matters except the empty seat across him, the one he needs be filled more than he needs air to breathe. 

“Scrying is our best option,” Adam insists. “Cabeswater may not exist anymore, but my powers are still intrinsically tied with Ronan’s. I can reach him, I know I can. The Barns is secured inside a magical bubble no one can penetrate, not without knowing what they are looking for. And I won’t be scrying alone. If you see that I am going too far, you can pull me back.” 

Adam gets up again. “I  _ understand _ , Declan. It’s not just your family at stake here, it’s mine too. So I am going to do this with or without you, but I would rather not do it alone.” 

When he turns at the door, Declan is behind him. 

They are all silent as Adam fills the sink with water and changes out of his clothes to one of Ronan’s hoodies. Declan raises an eyebrow when Adam meets him back in the master bathroom, but Adam ignores it. His last attempt at scrying had left him rather shaken, truth be told, and he knows there has only ever been one person who has managed to ground him. Ronan has always been Adam’s anchor between the real world and the mid-space Adam ventures into, the bridge joining the two worlds together. Adam himself is jittery, his thoughts running a thousand miles an hour. But the hoodie - it smells like Ronan, like  _ home _ , and it has an immediate calming effect on him. 

Adam turns to Declan and Jordan. “Do I need to explain how it works?” he asks. He hopes he doesn’t sound patronising, but he doesn’t have the time to give Declan’s new beau a crash course on Magic. Jordan, thankfully, shakes her head. “No, Declan explained the basics.” Adam notes she says Declan softly, pronouncing every syllable in it with care. It sounds much like how he himself says Ronan, how he relishes the taste of Ronan’s name in his mouth. He sees the way Declan looks at her, openly and without hesitation, the tiniest flicker of a spark in his eyes. A little bit of his wariness of Jordan eases at the sight of the display. 

“If I am not back in 15 minutes, or you see I am going too far, do whatever it takes to pull me back,” he instructs Declan. Then, he leans over the sink, his hands gripping the porcelain edges, and stares into the rippling water. He pushes his senses as far as it can go, trying blindly to grab onto the tethers of his connection with Ronan. He knows that’s not the way it works anymore; Cabeswater is long gone, no longer the bridge connecting the Magician to the Greywaren. And yet, he knows this deep in his heart: his and Ronan’s connection was never Cabeswater’s to begin with. Cabeswater might have nurtured it, amplified it, given it a magical meaning, but he and Ronan were drawn together without it, too. They have been tied together for longer than either of them acknowledged: since the day Adam saw the bald-headed Raven Boy and changed his life, since before Ronan had seen Adam on the side of the road and felt something inside him stir. Adam Parrish does not believe in fate or destiny, but he does believe in this: he and Ronan’s souls were magic, and that magic just  _ fit  _ together. And so he grabbed that magic, and he  _ pushed _ . 

He found himself in a field, golden wheat so long it reached up to his waist. He trudged through it, his footsteps making heavy prints on the brittle soil. In front of him, there were two figures standing. Both faces were familiar to Adam, and yet only one of them meant anything to him. His black was turned, his head turned up towards the sun in a way that made the bristles on his head shine almost white. The dark lines on his shoulders and neck were visible even from a distance, and Adam knew what those disappearing black lines were intimately; he has traced him thousands of times, after all, with his lips and tongue and teeth. 

“Ronan,” he whispers softly, so softly he didn’t expect Ronan to hear. And yet Ronan turns, his lips pulling into a smile seldom used, the one Adam has seen in Cabeswater a lifetime ago and, for the first time, had let himself fall. 

And suddenly, Adam can’t take this distance anymore. He pulls his legs up and sprints, faster than he ever has in his life. He thinks he is going to collide into Ronan, thinks that’s  _ exactly  _ what he wants to do - collide into him so strongly that they can never be pulled apart again. In reality, though, his feet stop just a whisper away from Ronan. They are standing so close their noses are almost touching. At this moment, Adam has no control over his hands. They reach up, cupping Ronan’s jaw tenderly. He caresses Ronan’s cheek softly, his thumb reverently tracing the sharp rise of his cheekbones, the crinkles in his eyes, the slit on his left eyebrow. He thought he had Ronan’s face committed to the deepest parts of his brain, but it is only now that he is realising just how much he still needs to memorise. 

Ronan leans into this touch. “Adam,” he murmurs against his fingers, he one still tracing the curve of his lips. Ronan’s own fingers come up to wipe a single tear away from Adam’s eyes. It is as if the action opens a dam, and Adam finds himself finally fitting his body with Ronan’s. They clutch onto each other desperately, their grip so hard Adam is sure it will leave bruises. He doesn’t care, though. He thinks he will need this, a physical reminder that Ronan was  _ there,  _ alive and breathing. 

“I told you to wait for me,” Adam mumbles against Ronan’s chest. They separate, but only minisculely. “Damn you, Ronan, why couldn’t you just wait for me?” 

“The magical assassins didn’t ask me for a fucking timetable, Parrish,” Ronan says, and Adam barks out a laugh. He thinks he may be delirious. 

“Fuck, Ronan,” he says, his hands moving up and down Ronan’s own. “Ronan, I-” 

“I know,” Ronan mutters, reaching for Adam’s hands and bringing them up to his mouth. He kisses his knuckles, “I know.” 

Distantly, Adam can hear the deep drawl of Declan’s voice. “Ronan, they’re calling me back. I don’t have much time.” He reaches up, pressing a dry, close-mouthed kiss to Ronan’s lips. “Where are you? How do we find you?” 

“No,” Ronan says, “Adam you have to let this be. They’re looking for us. They’re looking for you. You have to keep everyone away, especially Matthew and Jordan. We’re with Bryde, he’s taken us to a safehouse with other dreams. Lots of them, Adam.” Despite himself, a smile graces Ronan’s lips. Adam knows the reason, of course, but he has a feeling in his gut, something telling him there is something very  _ wrong _ about all this. “I’ll find a way to reach you if anything happens.”

“Ronan -” Adam tries again, but he can feel himself be pulled. 

“Tamquam,” he says instead. Ronan looks crestfallen as Adam fades. Adam can’t help but hold on a little longer, reaching for Ronan’s face again and pressing another kiss to his lips. “Ronan,  _ tamquam.”  _

“Alter idem,” Ronan whispers. Adam closes his eyes, feels himself be pulled back into the world where Ronan is not beside him. 

When he opens his eyes, he is back at the Barns, two curious pairs of eyes watching him with unblinking hope. He glances down to his watch, sees the second hand has moved from where it was a couple of hours ago. It is facing east now, and Adam knows with sudden clarity that this second hand will stretch for miles and miles. 

“I know where to find them,” Adam says simply. 

He watches the way Declan and Jordan’s face blossom into something, not quite happiness but not grief either. There is stuff to be done, of course, but for now he lets his heart open to something that feels strongly like hope. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I actually really like how this turned out so I MIGHT make this into a series? opinions? 
> 
> scream at me on Tumblr: @firstpynch


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